I stumbled into the massive library, shaking the hair from my eyes. It was slightly damp, as it was pouring outside. My giant leather raincoat managed to cover me and the giant law books I held pretty well, though. The receptionist smiled and welcomed me into the library, and I barely smiled back.
My name is Miles Edgeworth, prosecutor in training. I'm eighteen and set to take the bar exams next year, in what would be the end of my sophomore year in college. People say I'm very accomplished for my age, but that's all I expect from myself. I am a von Karma. I am perfect.
Still by the front desk and café, I started to walk forward and to the flight of stairs that led to the second floor. As I got halfway up the stairs with the heavy tomes in hand, the phone in my pocket buzzed. I backed up to the stair railing and dug into my pocket, my hand briefly stabbing into a pen. Regardless, I grabbed my phone and answered it.
"Miles," I said quietly. The snarky voice of my little sister answered me, surprising me, as I was expecting to hear my mentor instead.
"Father wants you home by six," Franziska von Karma huffed into the phone, as if it was a chore to inform me.
"Thank you, Franziska," I said, and pulled the phone away from my ear. Before it got far, she spoke again.
"You're at the library, aren't you?" She asked, sounding like she was ready to pounce.
"... Yes, what of it?" She giggled on the other end.
"I knew it! Why do you try to hard, Miles? You and I both know I'm the better prosecutor here." I stayed silent. It was true; my little sister is five years younger than me, yet she was a prosecutor already. And she never let me forget it. "You don't have to say anything, Miles. It's okay."
"See you at six, then," I said, my voice deadpan as I stopped the conversation.
I continued up the stairs and to the back corner of the library, where all of the law books were. I loved it back there. The table was always empty, so it was, in a way, my own place. I slowly made my way over there; the other library patrons paying the struggling teen little to no mind as he made his way to his little nook in the library.
Normally it wouldn't, but Franziska's words got to me today. All too frequently we'd snipe at each other, but today it felt like she meant it. She was thirteen. And a prosecutor. Not only that, but she was my mentor's real child. My father was murdered, and shortly after that I was taken in by Manfred von Karma. Even if I wasn't the miraculous child Franziska was, I still was going to try my best. But a little part of me asked; why bother?
Putting my books down on the little table, I pushed them aside and dug through my pockets. My hunting turned up a receipt, some change, and the blue pen that had stabbed me earlier. The receipt was for a few law books I wanted and a Steel Samurai comic book (just for pleasure reading, don't get the wrong idea), and was mostly blank. Perfect.
I put the pen to the receipt and tightly scribbled a few zig-zags to get the royal blue flowing. As soon as a few lines of prominent sapphire appeared, I got to work pouring out my feelings for what would be the first time.
To anyone who may find this; I wrote in my arching and arguably graceful penmanship, make sure you find out what your truly want to do with your life. Pursue it; as sooner than later you'll be tied down to the occupation you have.
I will admit, it felt nice to finally get those words down. However, I suddenly felt shy about sharing it. Where would I put it? Who would find it? Turning from the note and the table, I scanned the law books behind me. All too suddenly, a dusty brown one stole my attention. I yanked it off of the shelf, promptly running my thumb down the weathered spine. A History of All Law in the United States of America. Perfect. It was dusty; untouched for many years, ergo, who would touch it now? I flipped open the front cover of the antiquated book to the date of publication: 1957.
I put the large book down onto the table. Its size verily rivaled that of the law books I brought, but I digress. I took the receipt with my message in hand, reading it over once more. I can't change my path any longer, and I haven't since I was nine years old, but I hope someone in the future will find this and rethink where they were going. In the book, I flipped a few pages forward, landing readily on the table of contents. I folded the receipt up and stuck it close to the binding.
As I shut the book, a puff of dust erupted from the pages. I swatted it away, pulling the book to the edge of the table and into my arms. I replaced it in its original spot on the shelf. Turning back to my books, I realized my flair for studying today had evaporated, along with the feelings I'd vented onto the receipt.
Sitting down at the table, my head rested squarely on my hand. I looked forward; out the window. The sky was still gray and the rain was still falling, dripping lazily from the gutter above. It was an utter downpour out there, and there was no way I was leaving quite yet. I couldn't; it would look very suspicious if I arrived back home shortly after I had left. It would be very strange for me to not study, too.
I don't know what to make of these feelings. I don't like them, either. I don't like doubting myself. These feelings do nothing but avert my attention elsewhere from my studies. I remember why I need to become a prosecutor, and ultimately I will become a prosecutor, but days like this make it seem utterly ridiculous.
I decided I couldn't focus well enough today to get any adequate amount of work done. I gathered my heavy books and held them close, emerging from my law corner. I approached the stairs, descended them slowly, and walked to the small, in-library café to buy myself a coffee. I was going to be here for a little while longer.

•

I decided to go to the same library again the next day. I carried those same books with me and a notepad, intent on taking a few notes as I read through the tomes. I went back to my table in the back as per the usual, and perfectly organized everything on the table. Books, then to the left, pencil and notebook.
I pulled one of the brown books toward me, sighing quietly and flipping over the cover. It clacked against the tabletop as I read down the contents. I've read this book before, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to read it again and take notes.
Before I flipped to the first page of text, I made a giant mistake. What was that mistake? Well... I stretched. I twisted around in the chair as to crack my back, and my eyes fell upon the book I stuck the receipt in yesterday. My heart leapt in a nervous twinge. Do I look into it?
Wait, I thought suddenly. Why am I so nervous? It's just a piece of paper, Miles. Get it together. I returned to the law book in front of me, picking up my pencil and putting the tip to the word 'Prosecuting'. The whole chapter was called 'Prosecuting in this Era' and I've read it before, but there has to be something I can learn again from it.
Along with the times, prosecuting as an art has shifted and warped to fit in to humans and their advancements. I read slowly. Soon, I was just looking at the print on page. My brow pushed inward.
"Dammit," I muttered, standing up from my sitting position and jerking the wooden chair backwards. I turned around and pulled out that book; A History of All Law in the United States of America. Not bothering to sit down, I hunched over the book after placing it on the table. I flipped onto the contents, and my heart lurched with nerves for the second time that day. My receipt was gone.
In it's place was a crudely folded up square piece of paper. I hastily opened it and tried to make heads or tails of the scribbled writing. Hey, that's pretty deep, it read. You okay? I'm here if you want to vent ;)
Someone responded? I thought, holding my head. That's ridiculous! Do I respond? What do I say?
I took a deep breath and carefully pulled a strip of paper from my empty notebook and sat down to write. I'm fine, I wrote slowly, but thanks to your concern, stranger. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anyone to take that receipt. May I have it back?
I pulled out the stranger's note and stuck mine in there, shoving theirs into my pocket. I guess this is my new thing to do every day.

•

I have a feeling that Manfred is getting a bit suspicious of me going to the library. Today I didn't even take my books, just the notebook I brought yesterday. I walked up the same set of stairs, pausing midway to adjust my cravat. Looking down into the lobby, I saw a young man near my age wave to the receptionist as he exited the building. I had a feeling I knew him, but I never did see his face. All I did see was a red sweater and blue jeans, not to mention the black hair. I shrugged it off and continued to climb the stairs.
I suppose I could say that I went to the back corner to retrieve A History of All Law in the United States of America, but that's a given. Flipping it open to the contents, I found my receipt and a new note for me. I took the receipt and jammed it into my pocket, setting the book down on the table and taking out the note. Here it is! I hope you don't mind, but I took a picture of it to remember. I'm pretty happy with what I'm doing now; I'm an art student at Ivy U. An art student? what would an art student be doing in the law section of a library like this? No one in their right mind would be reading any of these books for pleasure

I ripped out another square of paper from my notebook and wrote down my thoughts. If you're an art student, what are you doing in the law section of this library? I'm working to be a prosecutor. I'm doing it for my father, so no matter how hard it gets, I'm still going to work towards that profession. I put the note in the book, shelved said book, and left.

•

I told Manfred today I was going out. Of course I was at the library again. No matter what this note said or asked, I would answer it for the last time. I've kept all of the notes, but it's time for me to cut off.

I retrieved the old book after I set down the notebook I always brought. I brought it to the table, opened the book, read the note, and almost threw up. I study law on the side. A prosecutor? that's pretty cool. Hey, what's your name? I feel like I know you from somewhere. My name is Phoenix Wright.

I crumpled the note up, my fist clenching involuntarily. How do I even respond to this? I... I guess I don't. Phoenix Wright has made his way into my life again. I've tried so hard to get rid of him, but he always seems to find his way back, no matter what.

I straightened up, stuffed the crumpled note into my pocket, and walked towards the stairs, not bothering to replace the big book. I drove home and went to my office, unlocking the top drawer. Inside were at least fifty unread pieces of mail, all from Phoenix. I emptied my pockets into the drawer, spilling the few notes and the receipt over the envelopes that held letters of well wishes and updates from home. I shut the drawer and relocked it, then turned around and sat by it. I had nothing better to do, anyway. Perhaps one day I'll read these letters.

•

Phoenix Wright walked into the big library, waving at the receptionist as he walked past her. His red sweater and blue jeans kept him warm on these cold days. He moved past the stairs and into the elevator, a much simpler and easier way to move between floors of the massive building.

Stepping off at floor two, Phoenix made his way to the back corner of floor two where the law books are, excitedly looking for a big book about law in the United States. He set it down on the table Miles always had and flipped it open, greeted only by the table of contents. Despite the lack of extra paper hidden in the book, Phoenix Wright smiled.

"I knew it was you, Edgeworth," he whispered into the book, still smiling, "I enjoyed talking with you again." With a sigh, he shut the book and shelved it, walking away from the law corner for the last time in a very long time. He raised his hand to no one in particular as he exited the rows of bookshelves. Regardless of it all, he was still smiling.

"See you in court, Edgeworth!"